First Kiss
by michonneskatana
Summary: I knew better than to tell Dean that I'd never been kissed before. But it still caught me by surprise when he decided to do something about it. Reader x Dean. One shot.


**Disclaimer:** Property of Supernatural, etc.

**Summary:** A moment of truth leads to an unexpected and very pleasant surprise from Dean (told from your POV)

We were stuck.

So things hadn't gone exactly as planned. Now Dean and I had managed to stuff ourselves into this ridiculously tiny janitor's supply closet in an old abandoned high school after the hell hound proved to be a bit more than we had anticipated. I didn't even have to stretch to touch either side of the small room. Empty metal shelving lined the walls. A few limp moldy rags were stuffed in a corner.

The hell hound's claws clicked against the cement floor as it paced back and forth in front of the door. Occasionally it stopped to scratch and bite at the door then it would howl in frustration and resume its pacing again.

Dean paced too, or at least tried to in the limited amount of space. His irritation at being locked up with no way out only made him churn around the room.

The adrenaline was beginning to wear off and I sagged against the shelves. I let myself slide to the floor and pulled my knees up to my chest, idly fidgeting with my pistol.

"Dean, you're making me dizzy," I said.

"There has got to be a way out of here," he growled.

"You've already been through everything in this closet at least three times," I said. "Unless you can somehow kill a hell hound with a moldy mop and a couple of foul smelling rags, you've run out of options. And please don't check your cell phone for the hundredth time for the love of god. There still won't be any service since the last time you looked two seconds ago."

Dean shoved his phone back in his pocket and pouted. I waved my pistol in the air.

"I'm out of ammo," I continued. "Your shotgun is out there…somewhere. So you're just going to have to wait. Sam will figure it out eventually and come find us."

Dean sighed and slid to the floor across from me. His face grew tense with concern.

"You're bleeding," he said as he reached for my arm. I glanced down, startled to see a gash running the length of my left forearm.

"I didn't even feel it," I said.

He shed his outer flannel shirt and tore a strip off the bottom. As he wrapped the makeshift bandage around my arm, the pain started to seep in, slowly at first and then in a tidal wave.

Dean's hands moved with a skilled ease that spoke of many years of practice. How many times had he been in this kind of a situation before? I wondered. I knew he grew up learning how to fight off every nasty thing that lurked in the shadows but I still felt a pang of sympathy for him. This shouldn't be normal…

He tied off the bandage as gently as possible but I still bit back a grunt of pain.

"Sorry," he said.

"No, it wasn't you."

Dean shifted, trying to find a comfortable spot on the cold cement floor which was an impossible feat. He leaned his head back against the metal shelving and glanced at the door. I knew at any moment he would be back on his feet again, buzzing around like an angry bee stuck in a jar.

"Okay," he said, rubbing a hand over his face, "you should probably talk to me or something because I'm gonna go crazy in here pretty soon."

"Alright," I said. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know."

"That doesn't help."

"Yeah, yeah, okay...uh…" he scrunched up his face in concentration. "What about a game?"

"Like I Spy? My guess is you see something gray and it's either shelves or the floor."

"No…what's that game girls play at sleepovers?"

"How do you...?" I stopped and shook my head. "Wait, no, never mind. I don't want to know."

He squinted at the ceiling as if the answer was written there then snapped his fingers. "First and Last, that's it."

I hesitated. "As long you keep your mind out of the gutter and don't ask any dirty questions."

"Well sap all the fun out of it why don't you," he said in a mock sulky voice.

"You start."

"Okay. Last pet?"

"Pippin the hamster. Met an untimely death when he went down the heating vent and we couldn't get him out again."

Dean grimaced. "Poor little guy."

"First road trip?" I asked

"Little town in Arizona, I don't even remember the name anymore. Had a gas station and a motel, that was it. I was nine, Sammy was five and Dad was on the hunt."

I glanced at him in surprise. "Your father took you hunting when you were nine?"

Dean shrugged. "He didn't have anyone he could leave us with. And I didn't actually go on the hunt with him, just watched Sammy at the motel."

A beat of silence passed.

"What?" he said, his tone stiff and confrontational. "Don't go feeling sorry for me. I don't need or want it."

"I just wish things could have been different for you, that's all," I said.

Dean ducked his head and tugged at a small hole in the knee of his jeans. "Yeah, well, me too but wishing never amounts to anything in the end."

More silence. I cursed myself for my stupidity, for asking that question to bring up all those raw feelings that he tried so hard to keep hidden and tucked away.

"It's my turn, isn't it?" he asked.

I nodded, relieved he was ready to move on.

"First kiss," he said with a sly little grin.

"Pass," I responded immediately.

"What!? No, come on, you can't pass."

"Yes I can and I am."

"It's against the rules."

"Well make a new rule that says I can pass because I'm passing."

Dean paused and studied my face. "Have I hit a nerve? Because if I have, just tell me to back off…"

"No," I said. "Just…don't want to answer."

"Okaaay…"

"You'll tease me," I said at last.

"Will not."

I shot him a look and he put a hand over his heart. "I swear," he said. "No teasing. Promise."

It suddenly seemed far too hot and suffocating in that little closet. Claustrophobia hadn't been an issue for me before but now I found myself tugging at the collar of my shirt, fighting for each breath. I didn't want to tell him, I REALLY didn't want to tell him.

I opened my mouth but no words came out. I tried again. Nothing. I shook my head.

Dean frowned in confusion. "What does that mean? No? Are you saying you're not going to tell…" Realization blossomed across his face. "Oh."

"Yeah," I croaked. "You promised no teasing. I've had enough people give me a bad time about it, I don't need it from you too."

"No, I was just..wow…I never would have guessed."

"Stop."

"I'm not teasing, I swear. Is it a religious thing or…?"

"No," I said, tracing idle little figure eights with my fingertip in the dust on the floor. "Call me old-fashioned but I haven't really trusted anyone enough for that yet."

"It's not something to be taken lightly," he said. "You'll always remember it, might as well do it right, when you're ready."

I eyed him warily. "This coming from the biggest flirt around."

"I mean it! Look, I remember my first kiss. Made a mess of it actually. Annie Todd, first grade. Biggest blue eyes you've ever seen. Guess that one shouldn't qualify as a first kiss since it was more like we knocked teeth together. Kinda wish I had waited a while, you know? Matured a bit. I was always in a hurry to impress, do my best, prove myself."

I shot him a skeptical look.

"What?" he said.

"What happened to the Dean Winchester I used to know? The professional pick up artist who chases everything in a skirt. Not this sappy hopeless romantic puddle in front of me."

He chuckled. "I've had my sad sack moments…" He suddenly broke off and turned serious. "Hey, what do you mean I chase everything in a skirt? I never chased you."

"You tried."

"Did I really?" He stared at the floor, searching for memories. Again, the transparent dawning of realization spread across his face. "Oh…heh…guess I did. I didn't…make you uncomfortable or anything, did I?"

I gave a half shrug. "A little, since I guess we're being honest here."

"Do I make you uncomfortable now? Still? I mean…"

"No," I said. "You don't."

The game lasted for only a few minutes more but we soon lost the enthusiasm for it. I began to contract some of Dean's restlessness and shifted around on the floor to try and find a more comfortable position. The metal shelving dug into my back no matter where I sat.

Dean and I drifted towards each other until we sat shoulder to shoulder, half asleep. It always surprised me when he pulled the honesty card. I was so used to his little white lies and smooth talking his way out of tight situations that it came as a shock, like getting doused with ice cold water, when I saw truth in his eyes, when he let down his guard, let me in, let me see him for who he truly was. He didn't do that with many people and I knew how hard it could be, opening up like that.

The sound of a gunshot just outside the door made me jerk awake. The door was opened and Sam stared down at us, more than a little amused at seeing us sprawled on the floor, bleary-eyed with lack of sleep.

"Cozy?" he asked.

[][][]

When we got back to the hotel room, Dean took me straight to the bathroom and I gave a little squeak of surprise as he lifted me up to sit on the counter.

"I can take care of it myself, you know," I said.

"I've seen your stitches," he said as he began pulling gauze, needle, thread and antiseptic from a little black first aid bag. "Couldn't sew a straight line to save your life."

I shoved his shoulder. "I can too."

Dean chuckled as he started cleaning up my arm, wiping off the dirt and blood with a wet pad of gauze. Most people would have left me to look after myself, but Dean never did, no matter how much I insisted. Secretly, I was grateful when he clucked over me like a mother hen sometimes. As much as I preferred doing things myself, it was nice to have an extra pair of hands to help out, to lend support when needed.

Dean ran the thread through the antiseptic but his hands stopped, hovering above my arm, not yet touching.

"This is going to hurt a bit," he said. "You ready?"

I nodded. He leaned against my knees as he bent over my arm. I bit my lip at the first jab of the needle but it didn't hurt nearly as much as I thought it would. For all of Dean's tough talk, he had the gentlest touch in the world. His fingers barely brushed my skin as he worked, sewing up the gash with the tiniest, neatest stitches. I wouldn't admit it to his face because I'd never live it down but…his stitches were better than mine.

He tied off the thread and began wrapping up my arm with proper bandages this time. When he was done, he set the roll of gauze aside but didn't move away, just kept leaning against my knees. He placed his right hand on the counter next to me but he didn't try to lock me in. Instead of placing his other hand on the counter and blocking my way out, he let his fingers trail down my injured forearm with a feather light touch and came to rest in a loose tangle in my hand. My breathing grew shallow and so fast I was certain I'd pass out at any second. When did this happen? It was supposed to be a simple clean up, stitch up and go like it always was. And why did I just keep sitting here? Why wasn't I running away?

He leaned in closer, so close I could feel the heat radiating from him, feel his breath on my skin, smell the faint, sweet scent of cinnamon mingled with sharp whisky that clung to him and I still didn't move, didn't look up. I kept my gaze trained in the middle of his chest as I sat there, frozen, unable to look him in the eyes. He untangled his fingers from mine and brought his hand up to slide along my jaw where his thumb brushed my cheek. My breath caught in my throat and I couldn't draw in another, couldn't breathe, couldn't think…

"All you have to do," he said in a low whisper, "is say no. I'll stop."

That made me glance up and I met his gaze. Did I want to say no? Did I want him to stop? I didn't know, I hadn't thought I'd actually be faced with this sort of a situation. If only I could have five minutes to get my thoughts to stop spinning so fast. I didn't know what to do. This wasn't familiar territory. Put a gun in my hand, tell me to face the angry spirit of a psycho killer and I'd be good. I could handle that. But this?

I should pull away, keep things professional…

"Yes," I said, so faintly I wondered if I'd only imagined it.

Even if I couldn't hear myself, Dean did.

He wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me to him in an easy, smooth motion. He bumped my nose with his, teasing, testing the waters, giving me time to pull away, to change my mind if I wanted to. I knew he preferred to move fast but he was taking it slow for me, coaxing me out of my shell. Slow or not, I still started to tremble. I didn't know exactly what to do...with myself...my arms...hands... What if I messed everything up? This definitely wasn't anything like shooting a gun or warding off demons.

My knees were proving to be an awkward problem. Dean was doing his best to work around it as he held me but his balance tipped slightly to the side, not much but enough to throw him off a bit. Automatically, I reached out to stabilize him. My hand landed on his hip and I felt the heat of his skin through his thin gray t-shirt. My unease melted like ice at that simple, brief touch.

Somewhere, deep inside me, a bold streak lay dormant, unused, stuffed into a corner. A different bold streak than the one I had to draw from every time I faced the terrifying spirit world or willingly wandered into all those dark places that sane people avoided. This new bold streak told me that I was hungry, starving actually. For years, I built walls to protect myself. Emotions were dangerous things, explosive, easily manipulated, something I couldn't afford. In the process, I had locked myself into a tiny box, cold and rigid. I never realized how much I craved the comfort of another human being, craved that spark of life from the touch of another to let me know I'm alive and full of fire.

But now, tucked into Dean's arms, I wanted nothing to do with that damn little box anymore. The stifling worry that I'd ruin the moment fell away and I stepped out from behind those walls that had unwittingly become my prison. I moved my knees and Dean and I melted together. I allowed myself to soak in his warmth, revel in every single brush of his fingertips that left a trail of exploding stars along my skin. My fingers ran across the rough, raspy stubble of his jaw. I slid one hand around his waist and up the muscles in his back, aching to hold him as close as physically possible.

For the longest moment we stayed that way, suspended in time, standing on the very edge but not quite going over, pulling away just a little then coming right back.

Then we took the plunge.

Dean closed the last gap of miniscule space between us and kissed me, soft, gentle and slow. He tasted sweet and a little spicy like apple pie. He could have been aggressive and fast, he could have pushed for more but he didn't. He deepened the kiss the tiniest bit as an offering to take me further if I wanted, to let me know the option was there. Then he barely pulled away, just enough so I could draw in a quick, shaky breath, but he was still so close, maddeningly close, almost touching but not quite.

He rested his forehead against mine. We didn't speak for a while, simply sat there. Words were too volatile, too inadequate, for this moment, breathing each other in.

"How's that for a first kiss?" Dean said at last.

"Yeah…that's…that's good," I managed to stutter.

Dean laughed softly and started to pull me to him again.

"Dean," Sam called from the other room. "Come here, take a look at this."

Dean groaned as he dropped his head onto my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around his neck and giggled. Reluctantly, he disentangled himself from me and pressed a kiss to my forehead. I leaned into him, drinking in every second that I could.

As Dean turned and walked away, our fingers trailed together then broke apart. Alone in the bathroom, the impact of what just happened started to sink in. Had I really done that? I touched my lips and stared at the floor as a slow smile began to creep across my face.

I was still there when Dean came running back in.

"Just one more," he said.

** Hope you liked it! Thoughts and comments are always welcome! :D**


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